Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. And then if some day Capes wanted her—saw fit to alter his views upon friendship. Both arm-chairs had been moved a little so as to face each other on either side of the fender, and in the circular glow of the green-shaded lamp there lay, conspicuously waiting, a thick bundle of blue and white papers tied with pink tape. ’ “Crude, I admit. Rumors had it he had been a looker in his youth, all long hair and chiseled muscles, but those days were long gone. He did not have to. I wonder,” he added, after a moment’s pause, “whether you ever realize how young you are. YOU did.
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